


A Christmas Feast

by Silverilly



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Holiday, Testing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:30:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1767232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverilly/pseuds/Silverilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Christmas at Aperture, and Chell is stuck testing as usual while a sarcastic robot insults her and her dwindling hope continues to be smacked around. Set as if the events in early Portal 2 (which is to say, after GLaDOS was woken up but before any button-pressing happened or anything like that) took place at around Christmastime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Christmas Feast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sirfuckbasketoflumapet](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sirfuckbasketoflumapet).



> This was originally written as a gift for Tumblr's Portal Secret Santa project.

She paused with expectancy as she watched the cube fall, waiting for it to land on the 1500 Megawatt Aperture Science Heavy-Duty Super-Colliding Super Button. It made its mark with a thud and a click, opening the exit doors as intended; as always, she felt a tiny rush of satisfaction from a test well-solved. While Chell was certainly unhappy with her situation and would do anything to escape Aperture, it was … _nice_ to be good at something. Anyway, testing was all she really knew.

“Congratulations. You seem to be getting better at this. For a few seconds there, I was actually impressed by what you were doing.”

And  _that_ was why she needed to get out of here.

Chell strode quickly through the doors, trying to ignore the voice that was becoming more grating with each test chamber. It shouldn’t have mattered—GLaDOS’s insults were childish at best and really had nothing to do with who Chell was—but she couldn’t deny that the biting commentary was growing irksome, slowly creeping under her skin like the radioactive chemicals that probably filled Aperture’s test chambers. More than anything, Chell needed a break. She needed a rest from the verbal abuse, from constantly being at the edge of death, from the smell of overly sterile rooms, from the seemingly endless stream of psychological torture. She was on edge and she was lonely and she was  _tired_. It was with a sigh that Chell stepped into the lift, her sole and brief respite from the voice, and the ride was over before she’d even finished exhaling. She braced herself in anticipation for whatever cruel words were about to come next.

“Federal regulations require me to wish you a happy non-denominational winter holiday. That’s right. It’s Christmas. Time sure flies when I’m having  _fun._ ”

_Christmas?_  Chell’s usual frown sank a little deeper as she tried to understand the word. It stirred something in her damaged memory, but years of cryosleep-induced amnesia made it nearly impossible to associate it with a specific image. Still, some sort of emotion sprouted in her stomach, familiar but unidentifiable.

She shook her head. GLaDOS was just playing her usual mind games; it was surely nothing of Chell’s concern. She resumed her habit of showing no reaction whatsoever to the AI’s words, instead focusing on the test before her. There was a hard light bridge far overhead and a faith plate that would lead her to it. At the very least, it seemed like a good place to get a nice vantage point. Mentally preparing herself for the rush in height, she stepped onto the plate.

“I’m feeling  _so_ festive today. I think this chamber needs a little redecoration, don’t you?” As Chell soared to the light bridge, she noticed some panels shifting on the wall. They formed a design, some succession of triangles that she didn’t quite understand— _Christmas tree_.

Yes, it was a Christmas tree. She wasn’t completely sure what that meant, but the words had formed in her mind and she was positive they were correct. The strange feeling in her gut rose again as she tried to refocus. She’d have to redirect the light bridge to face the right direction and then carefully situate her portals, falling into one and shooting through another to cross a pit of acid. It was fairly simple, but it would require precision and speed. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by Christmas trees and whatever significance they apparently bore.

“It’s even snowing,” the voice continued as Chell set her portals and made her way along the bridge. “You’re  _really_  missing out, you know. It shines in the sunlight—real sunlight, I mean, not like the recycled lamp you’re walking on.” Ignoring her, Chell carefully peered at the ground below, marking the spot where she’d place her orange portal. Taking a deep breath, she aimed her gun at the wall behind her, shooting the blue portal that would break the contact with the light bridge.

Her stomach swooped as her foundation broke, but she quickly aimed and fired the second portal. She barely heard GLaDOS’s next words: “Cold fat chunks falling from the sky. You’d feel right at home.”  _Very funny_. But she could imagine it. She remembered snow.

She hit the surface hard, but a shocking landing was better than being eaten alive by acid. From here it was only a few simple portal tasks to open the exit doors. She made a few mistakes, though none deadly, thanks to the distracting thought of snow. At this point, she was starting to think she’d never see snow again.

_Keep going. You’re going to get out of here. There is no alternative._  There was a short break within the lift—always far, far too short—and soon enough, the voice was back.

“I’ve been planning a  _long_ time for this. How do you feel about a feast?”  _A feast?_  Chell tensed as she stepped out of the lift. This sounded like another one of GLaDOS’s tricks. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but listen as the AI went on. “A nice holiday banquet, just for you. Not that you need it. I’d go easy on the pie if I were you.”

Of course. It was just another excuse to make a fat joke. Chell couldn’t really be bothered to care; she had grown far too accustomed to the sight of her own ribs to listen to anything seriously on that subject, and in any case she didn’t think being fat would really be a bad thing. She rolled her eyes as she worked to start solving the puzzle.

“Once you’re done this test, you can sit down and relax in front of a whole table of food. It’ll be just like the Christmas dinners you had with your—oh, that’s right. You don’t have a family. Well. I’m sure this will bring back fond memories of gnawing on a scrap of chicken bone at whatever orphanage took you in after your parents abandoned you.”

She bit her lip, fighting the urge to shout back. Her amnesia made her familial memories foggy, but she still felt considerably irritable from the unrelenting attacks. Besides, she had a feeling she  _had_ experienced a Christmas dinner. Once. Maybe.  _Focus_.  _Finish the test_.

“Are you excited? You don’t look like you are, but it’s hard to tell. Maybe it’s the bushy eyebrows, or maybe it’s all that pent-up lunacy.” Chell’s expression didn’t change as she dropped a cube onto a faith plate, watching it fly. “Did you know that those who don’t experience excitement from Christmas are more likely to become heartless, lonely murderers? It’s true.” Damn, an emancipation grill. She’d have to disable it.

 “If you were good this year, there might even be an extra present for you. From Santa. He’s not real, by the way—but you probably always knew that, because why have joy, right? Joy’s just not your thing. You prefer murder. And eating.” A portal here, a laser there. Chell pondered vaguely who ‘Santa’ was. “I wonder what murderers get in their stockings? Well, I guess we’ll find out soon.”

The test chamber was larger than average, and for once Chell felt a bit grateful. The veiled threats were making her a bit uneasy, especially in combination with how talkative GLaDOS was being. She knew she had no chance of receiving food any time soon—though the thought of it was starting to make her hungry—but it sounded like GLaDOS had an extra shot of horror up her proverbial sleeve. Would Chell be fed to the incinerator again?

_You can handle it. Just keep moving. She can’t beat you._ She closed her eyes for a moment against the voice, which was now humming a gentle tune. The melody, like everything else about Christmas, was familiar but distant—and it was certainly eerie to hear in GLaDOS’s inhuman tones. Opening her eyes again, Chell shot her final portal, opening the exit doors again. She didn’t feel accomplished—just anxious, uncertain. “Well, go on,” cajoled GLaDOS sweetly. “It’s time for dinner.”

Her eyes scanned every inch of the room, searching for an escape—but this chamber was as seamless as every chamber before it, but for the den of a surely-dead madman.  _Whatever it is, you can handle it_. Her steps were steady as she entered the lift, though she could hear her blood rushing in her ears, and she took a deep breath as she ascended into an unlit room. As the doors opened, she fought the urge to close her eyes.

Lights, blinding lights, flashed on. A long, narrow table was set out—plain and empty—and the room was sparse. “Merry Christmas.”

A turkey fell onto the table.

It was the smell that hit her first, strong and pungent. She resisted the urge to cover her face, knowing how that would satisfy GLaDOS, but she felt a wave of nausea as she stepped a bit closer to the carcass. It was moldy,  _maggoty_ , so at odds with the clinically clean atmosphere of the test chambers. The bird still had feathers, though it had been partially charred, and some flesh had been torn away to reveal its bones.

It was, Chell realized, the only sign of organic life she’d seen in a long time—those maggots were still alive. She backed away, but mostly she felt relieved, having expected far worse. If anything, this was a bit … anticlimactic. A ragged scrap of greyish material floated slowly onto the turkey—an old, empty sock. “There’s your stocking. I guess Santa was all out of coal this year. Maybe he should have just taken your hard, black heart. You can move on now, you know, if you  _really_ want to refuse this lovely dinner that I prepared just for you. I’m sure you don’t care how hard I worked on it. That’s all right. I expected it.”

 Thankfully, Chell wasn’t trapped—another set of doors awaited, opening swiftly to a new test chamber. She stepped confidently forward, but as she passed the turkey, she was suddenly overwhelmed with loneliness.

It was Christmas. She couldn’t remember much, but she knew she was supposed to spend this time with other people. Yes, there was supposed to be food—and her stomach, which technically needed no sustenance thanks to Aperture’s chemical soup, growled at the thought—but it was meant to be shared with others. She was supposed to have a  _holiday_ , a break, a rest from her work to be with the people she loved, and she couldn’t even remember who those people were anymore. Even Wheatley, the friendly and talkative little ball, had been crushed by GLaDOS.

She was alone.

The thought nearly made her keel over—but she couldn’t. She couldn’t stop now. She couldn’t let GLaDOS win. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed an opening in the walls, and she instinctively shot a portal into it, hoping for an escape.

It wasn’t an exit.

No, it was just another den. Messy words and paintings were scrawled on the walls, cans of food lay haphazardly beside a rusted can opener, and—

She froze. She’d never seen a can opener in a den before … and she was  _so_ hungry …

“I hope you don’t think you’re going to find anything in there. Eating rats for Christmas is low, even for you.”

Barely thinking about it, Chell sat down on the floor, picking up the tool with the hand that was unhindered by her gun. She might know how to use this.  _Try to remember …_  She laid the portal gun on her lap, easily accessible if she needed to grab it on a moment’s notice. Outside the den, GLaDOS was saying something, but Chell ignored her, taking the can opener with both hands. From deep within the recesses of her memory, she managed to manoeuver the device onto a nearby tin and pressed hard, feeling the metal start to sever with a pop of released air. Oil spilled onto the floor, and she shifted quickly, letting it fall away from her. She continued to work at the can until the top finally fell to the floor with a gentle clatter.

Sitting in a few remaining dregs of oil was a grayish-brown, slimy lump. It was meat of some sort—or at least, she hoped it was. For a moment, Chell wondered whether this was a good idea. She wasn’t one to do things she didn’t absolutely have to do, and this seemed … irresponsible and frivolous. Her gaze fell to the wall, to the chaotic words written across them:  _She wears the chain they forged in life … they girded it of their own free will, and **by their will** she wore it._

_Bah, humbug_ , Chell thought—and she was startled by her own words. She had no idea where they’d come from or what they meant, but she found herself laughing.  _Laughing!_  It had been a  _long_  time since she’d let out even the smallest chuckle. Throwing caution to the wind (as much as someone like Chell could, anyway), she dug her fingers into the alleged meat and popped some into her mouth.

The flavour was almost overwhelming—it was far more savoury than the antiseptic air she’d been tasting for so long. Her mouth watered from the rich, salty flakes, from the texture of  _actual food._ It was like … well, it was like a  _gift,_ a  _Christmas gift._  There was behind it the tang of her own dirty fingers, but she couldn’t be bothered to care when she was  _eating_. If she imagined hard enough, she might taste a fresh, well-cooked turkey as she dropped the mystery meat between her lips.

As she ate, she redirected her attention to the walls. An untidy green shape was situated above the words to which she’d reacted so strangely— _Christmas tree!_ —but this was asymmetrical and as imperfect as the shaky, disorganized script beneath it. Other words littered the room alongside images of winged humans and snowflakes. The drawings were … festive. They were  _human_. They were the marks of some unknown, unseen … friend.

The emotion warmed her again, and it had a name:  _cheer_.

_Thank you, my friend.  
_

As GLaDOS continued her sarcastic barrage, Chell let herself be merry, revelling in a Christmas feast surrounded by poetry, joy, and the gift of friendship.


End file.
